


L'appel du vide

by througheden



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/througheden/pseuds/througheden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>L'appel du vide (n.; French): The unexplainable desire to jump when on the edge of a cliff. </p><p>In which Spencer wants to fall, and Aaron wants to catch him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a cute little ficlet about Spencer's great relationship with Jack, but then Jack went to bed and porn happened. I'm still not sure how this got so out of control.

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

\- Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice._  


* * *

Aaron Hotchner had a problem.

His problem was currently sitting cross-legged on the floor of his living room, pulling coins from behind his giggling son’s ear. His problem was wearing mix-matched socks and was clad in another absurdly endearing sweatervest. His problem was named Dr. Spencer Reid, Aaron’s friend and co-worker, and the real problem was that Aaron didn’t _know_ what his problem was, except that is seemed to center around Spencer.

The young doctor had been spending more time at the Hotchner household as of late. There was no particular reason—Aaron invited him over once, they found that they enjoyed each others' company, and it had become a weekend ritual for the two profilers. Every Saturday evening—barring those weekends when they were working a case—Spencer brought take out, Aaron picked a wine, and Jack picked a movie.

That particular night, however, Jack was in a bit of a mood. Before Spencer arrived, his father wrestled to get him bathed and changed and no amount of pleading would convince the young boy to choose a movie. He was tempted to call Spencer and cancel.

Aaron knew he’d had a bit more experience with children since becoming Henry’s godfather, but he didn’t want to force Spencer to deal with a screaming six year old all evening after dealing with screaming higher ups from the Bureau all day.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. When he answered, Spencer stood before him with an armful of what looked like Chinese take-out.

“Hey, Hotch,” he greeted him, “hope you don’t mind Chinese tonight. I had a craving for lo mein,” he explained, handing a container to Aaron. “I ordered you the mu shu pork and I know Jack loves the sweet and sour chicken.”

Aaron’s stomach twitched in a way he would never admit as he took the containers from Spencer.

“Come on in,” he said, resolutely deciding to ignore whatever just happened in his central nervous system. Spencer followed him through the door and toed off his sneakers. Aaron was trying to enforce some of the same rules Haley had in an attempt to give Jack a sense of normalcy and Spencer had been nothing but cooperative.

“I should warn you,” Aaron began, heading towards the kitchen, “Jack’s in a bit of a mood tonight. He won’t pick a movie, he pitched a fit when I was trying to get him cleaned up, and he’s been throwing tantrums all day. If it gets to be too much, don’t feel bad about leaving early.”

Spencer chuckled as he placed his container down on the counter, taking the plate and fork Aaron instinctively handed him.

“I listened to FBI bureaucrats rant about the budget for three hours today, which isn’t a far cry from the sounds of a cranky six year old. I think I’ll survive,” Spencer replied with a smile.

Aaron returned Spencer’s grin, watching as he carefully poured his lo mein onto the plate. It always surprised him to see how relaxed Spencer could be when he wasn't in the office and he'd be lying if he didn't admit that it pleased him to see the young genius so content in his home. Aaron was trying to place the odd warmth he felt watching his co-worker scoop cheap Chinese food onto a Corel dish when he was taken away from his thoughts by a cranky bundle of blond hair whizzing through the doorway.

“Is that chicken?” Jack asked.

“Sure is, Spencer remembered your favorite, Jack,” his father replied.

Aaron was scooping pieces of chicken onto a plate for Jack when his son—impatient as his father—decided to take matters into his own hands.

“I can do it—” Jack started to say, before attempting to snatch the plate out from under Aaron’s hands. Both Aaron and Spencer tried to stop the chicken from tumbling to the ground but their reflexes just weren’t quick enough.

The sauce splattered the lower cabinets as the container hit the ground and chicken rolled across the kitchen floor. The plate didn't break, but Jack’s voice did as he began to cry.

Aaron bent down to console his son but he refused to let his father hold him, his cries only escalating with each attempt. Aaron looked to Spencer, his brow furrowed above wide eyes.

Spencer was staring silently, wearing a mask of concentration Aaron knew well from work.

Wordlessly, Spencer bent down next to Aaron.

“Hey Jack, what’s the matter?” He hedged.

Aaron chanced a look in Spencer’s direction, noting the confident smile and lack of hesitance. When the young genius had become so comfortable with his son, he had no idea.

If he weren't quite so concerned about his son, Aaron might have noticed the same twitch and warmth he'd felt twice since Spencer entered his household.

When the only response Spencer received from Jack was a high pitched wail, he continued.

“You know, Jack, letting someone take care of you isn’t a bad thing. It doesn’t mean you aren’t a big boy, you know that, right?”

Aaron hitched an eyebrow but before he could speak, Jack’s cries subsided into muted sniffles. Rather than interrupt, Aaron remained crouched next to Spencer, watching their interaction.

Jack's face was streaked with salty tears and his puffy brown eyes stared at Spencer questioningly.

“It doesn't?” He replied, his voice scratchy.

“Of course not. Big boys need help sometimes, too. I know I do, right, Hotch?” Spencer asked, sparing a glance at the older agent. Aaron knew exactly what Spencer was alluding to, but decided against acknowledging it.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I do, too. Remember when I was sick last month, Jack, and you brought me tissues and orange juice?”

“Mhmmm,” he hummed in response, looking down at his feet. He sniffled and started playing with his fingers. After a moment of silence, Spencer spoke.

“Wanna see something cool, Jack?”

The young boy looked up with slight interest. “Sure.”

“Come on, I'll teach you a magic trick.”

The smile that blossomed across his son's face warmed Aaron's heart, and the smile Spencer returned evoked the same involuntary twitch he'd been trying all evening to settle.

Jack sprinted into the living room, his spirits higher than his father had seen all day. Spencer followed the young boy, lo mein completely forgotten.

* * *

 

And that's where Aaron Hotchner found himself an hour later after cooking Jack a dinner of macaroni and cheese— sitting on the floor with his son and Spencer, watching Jack's face light up every time Spencer pulled a coin from seemingly thin air. If he was being honest with himself, he was just as mystified as Jack. Mystified and... something else entirely.

It wasn't just the way Jack was giggling at Spencer or the way Spencer was smiling; it wasn't just the way Spencer handled Jack's outburst so easily or the aura of calm surrounding both his co-worker and his son. He couldn't place his finger on it, couldn't quite put a name to whatever the lump forming in his throat was, but it was there and it was unrelenting.

Jack inadvertently yawned through a giggle and rubbed his no-longer-swollen eyes with tiny fists.

“Looks like it's time for bed, huh?” Spencer said, flicking a coin off his thumb and pantomimed looking for it in thin air.

“No, I wanna see more magic!”

“How about this,” Spencer began, “How about I come by tomorrow and I'll show you some card tricks? If that's okay with your dad, of course.”

Both Jack and Spencer glanced at Aaron, clearly outnumbered. Not that he'd have refused anyways.

“I think that'd be a great, don't you, Jack?”

“Can you pull cards out of nowhere, too?” Jack asked, ignoring Aaron's question.

“Sure can, and I can teach you how to do it, too. But you need to be well-rested for it to work.”

“Bedtime, daddy!” He demanded, springing up from the floor.

Aaron couldn't contain his chuckle. “I'll be right back, I'm gonna go tuck in this little magician's apprentice,” he said, ruffling Jack's hair.

“Not a problem,” Spencer replied, pulling himself to his feet. His bad knee was screaming at him for sitting cross-legged so long.

He'd barely gotten to a squatting position when, on his way towards the stairs, Jack paused and outstretched his arms.

“'Night Spencer!” He said, tiny arms encircling Spencer's neck.

Aaron couldn't contain the smile that blossomed across his face—he knew Spencer wasn't an overtly affectionate person and he fully expected him to remain a stunned victim to his son's huge heart.

What he didn't expect was for Spencer to smile and return the hug.

“'Night, Jack,” he replied. When Jack pulled away, Spencer pulled a coin out from behind his ear. “Remember, magic only works when you've had a full night's rest.”

Jack giggled and ran past his father, bounding up the stairs.

And then realization slammed into Aaron like a meteor.

The unsettling twitch in his stomach when Spencer remembered his and Jack's favorite Chinese dishes. The warmth he felt sharing the kitchen with him earlier. The ache in his chest all evening, the lump that formed in his throat watching his interactions with Jack.

There it was—Aaron's problem.

Spencer _belonged_ there.

He belonged with Aaron and Jack. He belonged on the floor teaching his son magic tricks, he belonged in the kitchen scooping out his lo mein, his sneakers belonged in the shoe rack next to the door; Aaron wanted him there, wanted him to be part of Jack's life, wanted this domesticity that came so easily with Spencer.

The moments they'd shared over the past years clouded his vision, a kaleidoscope of blurred memories forming the clearest picture he'd ever seen.

He had no idea when it started, when he began to see Spencer as more than a co-worker or friend. Perhaps it was like looking a photograph—it's impossible to see everything going on in the background when standing in the midst of chaos. But regardless of when it started, it was there now. He recognized it, he acknowledged it, and there was absolutely no turning back.

“Come on daddy! I wanna make cards disappear tomorrow!” Jack's call jerked Aaron from his epiphany. It was only then that he realized he'd been staring at Spencer, his eyes wide with revelation.

“I'll be right back,” he said, unable to break eye contact.

Spencer simply nodded. As Aaron turned to tuck his son into bed, he could have sworn he saw the same incalescent spark in Spencer's eyes that he knew was clouding his own.

* * *

 

Jack was all tucked in—teeth brushed, nightlight on, story read. The excitement of the evening really tuckered out the young boy; he was asleep in less than ten minutes. Aaron placed a quiet kiss on his head, briefly wondering how many years he had left like this with his son 

He turned out the light and pulled Jack's door almost closed, leaving it open just a crack. When he made his way back downstairs, Spencer was sitting on the couch reading what looked like a French text. He was resting against the arm with one leg was curled underneath him while the other stretched to the floor. The ceiling lights were off and the room was dimly lit by the reading lamp over the couch.

“Do you go anywhere without a book?” Aaron chuckled, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorjam. Spencer looked up, unsurprised to see him standing there.

“Generally speaking, no,” he replied with a grin.

Aaron walked over to the couch and sat down next to Spencer, allowing a little less distance than he might have just a few hours previous.

“What's that you're reading anyways?”

“The first volume of _Les Misérables_. I've read it before, but only the English translation. I've found some nuances in the original French that are entirely missing in the English edition.”

“I had no idea you spoke French,” Aaron replied, noting the perfect pronunciation of the book title.

“Languages really aren't all that difficult to learn—memorization of vocabulary and conjugation is easy. The challenging part is being able to understand the significance of each word within context. And, with my job being what it is, deciphering meaning tends to come pretty naturally,” Spencer explained.

“I see, is that how you figured out what was wrong with Jack earlier?”

Spencer chuckled, a low laugh that Aaron was unaccustomed to but appreciative of. He made a mental note to make Spencer laugh more often.

“Not exactly. I just... I know Jack fairly well by now. He's very independent and he idolizes you. You mentioned his outbursts earlier and all of them were related to you helping him do things—getting him washed up, dressed, preparing his dinner,” he leafed through his novel absentmindedly. “It's difficult having someone you admire take care of you.”

Something in Spencer's voice caught towards the end.

“I can relate to that,” Aaron confessed.

“You can?” Spencer said, his head snapping up from his book.

“Of course. I know Jack thinks I'm a superhero but I've had to lean on friends and co-workers' strength more often than he—or most people, really—would expect.”

It wasn't often that Aaron managed to confuse Spencer, so when Spencer looked at him quizzically, he knew this was a conversation they needed to have.

“I probably should have told you this, I'm not even sure why I didn't, but after everything that happened with... with Foyet and with Haley, I looked to you for strength.”

“You were looking in the wrong direction there, Hotch. I have a history of dealing with things rather poorly—”

“Spencer, let me finish, please.” Spencer's head tilted at the use of his first name.

“You are one of the strongest individuals I have ever met, both inside and outside of the FBI. I know what you've been through and I've seen you cope. How many agents do you think would come back to the Bureau after what you experienced? Hell, how many prodigies with 187 IQs would choose the FBI as a career path in the first place? You could be out there building rockets for NASA or developing programming for intelligence agencies, but you chose the BAU. You chose it when you were 22 and you chose it again after it almost destroyed you. Doing what you could to help others avoid the torture you endured was more important than your own innate human survival instincts.”

Aaron paused, taking in Spencer's wide eyes and slightly opened lips.

“I almost didn't come back after Foyet, but I couldn't disappoint Jack. I couldn't let him think that the bad guys won. And looking to you, I knew that I wasn't alone in my experiences. I knew that if the time ever came when I needed more than silent support, you'd understand.”

 _I knew you'd understand._ The words hung silently between the two agents, filling the too little space left between them.

When Spencer uttered those words all those years ago, both he and Aaron knew it went beyond understanding the clues he'd left in the Hankel case. He trusted Aaron Hotchner to understand _him—_ his habits, his quirks, his fears. Through his battle with addiction and his interpersonal struggles, Aaron was there. He didn't always go to him, didn't always vocalize his need for support, but knowing that Aaron was there provided with him with an auxiliary reservoir of strength from which he drew silently for years.

He never expected to have provided the same reserve of stability for Aaron.

Neither Spencer nor Aaron remembered when they'd scooted close enough for their thighs to touch, for their arms to brush against one another, but there they were. The air was thick between them, appetence building a bridge between them.

They weren't sure who leaned in first, who's hand reached across that bridge first, but Spencer and Aaron found themselves falling into each other. Spencer found Aaron's lips gliding across his, his lower lip captured between Aaron's. It wasn't perfect— it was timid and new and unrehearsed and, for a brief moment when their noses clashed, Spencer questioned the validity of natural selection. But eventually, they found a rhythm, years worth of pent up desire communicated through lips and tongues. 

Aaron's breath hitched when Spencer licked his way into his mouth, one hand pressed gently against the side of Aaron's face while the other twitched on his thigh.

 _Those damn hands,_ Aaron thought. He'd watched them before—watched them breeze through paperwork, watched them carry a gun, watched them pull coins from thin air—and now he felt them work their way up his chest.

Spencer's free hand wormed its way from Aaron's thigh to his stomach, his stomach to his chest, his chest to his neck before he gently pulled Aaron towards him.

Aaron let himself fall towards Spencer, bracing himself with both hands on either side of Spencer's head.

“I'm not going to break, Aaron,” Spencer muttered around Aaron's lips, urging Aaron on top of him. He allowed his hands to slide behind Spencer's head, running his fingers through Spencer's hair as their bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces. He moved his lips to Spencer's throat, lightly nipping the skin just below his jawline. One thigh nestled into Spencer's crotch, the bulge in his jeans growing with every movement.

Spencer's long fingers grasped at Aaron's waist, his pelvis jerking up to meet Aaron's thigh. Aaron moved from Spencer's throat just long to ask, “Are you sure?” He took in the flushed face of the young man beneath him—his lips were swollen, his pupils blown wide with a kind of desperation he'd never seen.

“ _L'appel du vide_ ,” he whispered, his hands scratching at Aaron's back as they worked their way up his shirt.

Aaron didn't have the opportunity to ask what it meant before Spencer continued in a breathless voice.

“Literally, it means 'call of the void' but the French use it to describe humanity's instinctive urge to jump from significant heights. I want to fall into this Aaron, into you. Just... please—”

The certainty in his voice pushed Aaron over a cliff of his own.

“Bedroom,” he said, rolling from the couch to his feet and pulling Spencer along with him.

He wasn't sure how they'd gotten up the stairs and into his bedroom without waking his son, but they did. Aaron shut the door with his foot before he found himself tumbling into bed beneath Spencer.

The kisses were more urgent now, tongues fighting for dominance, fingers raking across skin and through hair.

“Too many clothes,” Spencer gasped, yanking Aaron's teeshirt up to his armpits. Aaron bowed his head, the teeshirt sliding over his head, allowing the man beneath him to see his scars. Spencer twisted his good leg around Aaron's knees and rolled himself on top of Aaron, removing his own shirt in the process.

The scars were light, but they were there, constant reminders of Aaron's struggles, of his obstinacy. Spencer traced them with his fingertips before leaning down, brushing his lips against each of the nine marks.

Aaron was on the brink of tears. “God, Spence,” he croaked out.

Spencer worked his way down Aaron's stomach, relishing in the rolling motions of Aaron's hips. “So beautiful,” he muttered in the last scar.

His lips trailed further, the sillage of his breath continuing to the waistband of Aaron's jeans.

“You don't have to—” Aaron began, only to be cut off by the sound of his jeans coming undone. Spencer pulled at his waistband and helped Aaron shimmy out of them.

The younger man palmed Aaron through his boxers, brushing his lips against the bulge jutting out from the gray fabric. Aaron felt his erection fall against his stomach as Spencer pulled his boxers down with his teeth—he had to choke down the moan that brimmed in this throat at the sight.

No amount of willpower could stop the guttural moan that escaped Aaron's lips when Spencer licked a firm stripe up the underside of his erection, swirling his tongue around the pearling head. And then there was nothing but warmth and moisture as Spencer wrapped his lips around Aaron's throbbing member. He dug into the sheets, twisting the cotton fabric in his hands to keep from entwining them in Spencer's hair. His hips thrust forward of their own accord when the head of his erection brushed the back of Spencer's throat. He placed his hands firmly on Aaron's hips, holding them down while he bobbed up and down over his boss' cock.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” he moaned, spiraling into a kind of bliss he could never have imagined. Spencer hummed in response, the vibration of which sent electrical shocks straight up Aaron's spine. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, he could barely breathe—he was completely falling apart in Spencer's hands. And he knew he wouldn't last much longer. Or at least he wouldn't have, if Spencer didn't release Aaron's cock from his lips with an obscene _pop._

Aaron reached down, one hand stroking Spencer's jawline.

“C'mere,” Aaron whispered.

Spencer's body glided over Aaron's, electricity sparking from the friction of their bare chests. Aaron wrapped his arms tightly around Spencer's waist and rolled until he was hovering over Spencer's frame. Buttons popped out from Spencer's jeans and when he lifted his hips to meet Aaron's flesh, he shimmied them to the floor with a light _clank._

There was no shame, no hesitance in Spencer movements. When his hips rolled up to meet Aaron downward thrust, he was confident. His fingers graced Aaron's cheek, his jawline, his neck, his back— Aaron wanted bring Spencer to the edge, to show him euphoria like he'd never experienced.

He wanted to bring Spencer to paradise.

Their erections met, hot and hard against one another. Spencer gasped, his eyes fluttering open and closed as they moved together.

“I need—more, please,” Spencer begged. “Want you.”

“You sure? I don't want to—to push you,” Aaron responded, his breath hitching with each word.

“I'm not a china doll, Aaron, I'm not going to break. Please, just... please.” His fingers dug into Aaron's lower back, increasing the pressure on both of their members.

Aaron groaned, his fists clenched on the sheets at either side of Spencer's head. He reached over to the bedside table, searching blindly for the small bottle of lubricant in the back of the drawer.

The top flipped off with a small _click_ and he moistened his fingertips.

“I've never... done this before, so if something hurts,” Aaron said, leaning back on his knees over Spencer's writhing frame. “I'm not as inexperienced as you might think. If I don't like something, you'll know. Now please stop stalling.”

Spencer's voice was demanding, more aggressive than Aaron would have expected and it was more erotic than Aaron could have ever imagined.

He trailed his fingertips down Spencer's front, watching as he reacted to the gentle touches. For a brief moment, Aaron wondered if anyone had ever worshiped Spencer, had ever made him aware of how beautiful he was. Given what he knew of Spencer's history, he wagered that no, no one had ever made him feel wanted and Aaron desperately wanted to be the first.

When he swirled his tongue around Spencer's leaking cock and toyed a single index finger around his tight entrance, he knew he was moving in the right direction. Spencer's eyes flitted closed, his jaw slack as a low, guttural moan escaped his lips. Aaron pressed on, sliding past tight muscles. When they swallowed his finger, he wondered if he'd be able to handle the heat and the constriction around his cock; he was close to flying apart already just from the thought.

A trail of licks and kisses blossomed down Spencer's erection, across his hips, the top of his thighs. He pulled his finger out slowly, draw circles with it against the constrictive muscles, before pushing it back in.

 _Push. Pull. Push. Pull._ He worked faster as Spencer whimpered.

 _Two fingers._ Spencer's hips rolled up to meet him as he spread his fingers against the muscles trying to swallow them. The more Spencer writhed against the sheets, the lower his moans became, the more empowered Aaron felt.

 _Three fingers._ Spencer was all but flying apart, his breath uneven and his neck covered in a light sheen of sweat. “I—Aaron, please, I need—”

His pupils were blown wide with lust, a desperation in his voice unlike anything Aaron had ever heard.

He removed his fingers, placed one more kiss against Spencer's left thigh, and knelt back on his heels. Spencer lifted his hips and bent his knees, watching Aaron expectantly. Aaron grabbed the tiny bottle from the nightstand and lathered himself with the lubricant before pressing the head of his cock against Spencer's entrance.

It was difficult at first—there was resistance and muscle and Spencer grimacing. “You okay? We can stop anytime,” he muttered.

“Don't you dare, just—need a minute to adjust,” he whimpered, rolling his hips into Aaron. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from groaning out at the sight of Spencer writhing around his cock. There could be nothing more beautiful, nothing more erotic. With Spencer's own movements encouraging loosening, Aaron leaned forward, sliding further into him. The motions were slow, calculated— the older agent was drawing up every ounce of willpower he had to keep from carelessly thrusting into the tight warmth that threatened to wreck him.

Spencer growled, pulled him down into a hard, bruising kiss. “More,” he moaned into Aaron's mouth.

That was it. Spencer's request broke him. With a groan of deep desire, Aaron's slow, calculated movements gave way to fast pumps. The bed creaked as he dove into a gasping Spencer—it was all hands and sweat and erratic breaths. He grasped Spencer's hips, using them as leverage.

“Oh fuck, Aaron—” Spencer gasped, his hands flying up behind his own head to grasp the poles of the headboard.

“Harder,” Spencer choked out, wrapping his legs around Aaron's waist.

Aaron's hands left Spencer's hips and grabbed the headboard, clutching Spencer's fists over the poles. His body arched up while his head tipped back, exposing the skin of his neck. Aaron leaned down, biting the flesh between his neck and his shoulder. He felt the contraction, saw the uneven breaths jerking from his chest and knew Spencer was close.

“Let go, Spence, it's okay, make the jump, I'm right here,” he whispering into his ear, nibbling at his earlobe. One hand released the bed pole and reached down to grasp Spencer's throbbing cock as he spoke, stroking Spencer closer and closer to climax.

And then it was all muscle and contraction as Spencer flew apart in his hands.

“Oh god, Aaron!” His gasps turned to breathlessness, his whimpers to screams. Aaron had to kiss the sobs silent as the hot liquid flowed from Spencer's cock over his hand. Seeing Spencer so disheveled, so utterly wrecked pushed over a cliff of his own as he spiraled into his own climax.

He released into Spencer with a cry of his own, muffled only by Spencer's hot skin. He was unable to see past the bright lights of the supernova exploding behind his eyelids, but he felt everything. Spencer's breaths, his quivering frame, his twitching member in one hand and his clenched fist beneath the other. Their gasps and collective groans came together, a language all their own. It was guttural, it was sinful, it was a hymnal to Aaron's ears.

Aaron collapsed over Spencer's shaking body, his head nestled in the sweat-sheered crook of Spencer's neck. Their hands dropped from the headboard and their fingers found their way entwined in one another. Aaron could feel Spencer's heart beat against his chest, felt his breath warm against his shoulder.

Moments passed where nothing but silence filled the room, broken up only by the deep exhalation of the two spent men.

It was Spencer who broke the silence first, his voice breathy and deep.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” Spencer smiled into Aaron's hair.

He chuckled, looking up to meet his gaze. “I sure as Hell hope so,” Aaron replied, still fighting to regain control of his nerve endings.

“I've never felt like that before,” Spencer whispered.

“Like what?” Aaron replied.

Spencer paused, biting his bottom lip. “Like I was... significant.”

Aaron shimmied up the bed so that he was equal with Spencer's height. “You are. I should have acted sooner, and I didn't, and I'm sorry. But don't ever think that you're anything less than essential.”

“Thank you,” he said, leaning over to cover Aaron's lips with his own. They kissed lazily with a comfort normally saved for established relationships.

After a few moments, Spencer spoke. “I should probably get going. Jack would never forgive me if I was late showing him card tricks.”

Aaron placed a hand on Spencer's wrist as he rolled to stand.

“Or you could stay,” Aaron hinted.

Spencer's mouth opened and closed once, leveling Aaron's pleading eyes.

“Are you sure?” He replied, fighting—and failing— to hold back a wide grin.

“C'mere,” Aaron said for the second time that evening, extending an arm in Spencer's direction. He obliged, rolling back against Aaron's solid frame.

Spencer's head rested in the crook of Aaron's neck, just as it had all those years ago in that graveyard.

Perhaps a part of him knew even back then that Spencer belonged there, knew that he was his ticket to happiness and security. But that didn't matter anymore—Spencer was there now, and Aaron would do anything for him to stay.

He hoped Spencer understood what he was asking by asking him not to leave. He wasn't asking for him to stay for the evening, or for a day. He wanted him there in the mornings, in the evenings, for breakfast and dinner; when Jack left for school in the morning and when he returned in the afternoon—he wanted to share his life with Spencer Reid.

But that was a conversation they'd have an opportunity to have later, a thought that warmed Aaron Hotchner.

“Get some rest, Spence. Remember, those magic tricks only work on a full night's rest.”

He breathed out a laugh in response, draping an arm over Aaron's body. It was an oddly intimate gesture, one that Aaron tried to return by lacing his fingers through Spencer's over his chest.

After a few moments, Spencer's breath evened out, deep inhalations preceding shallow exhalations.

As he watched him settle into the cocoon of warmth and security created between Aaron's side and his arm, he had his second realization of the evening.

Aaron didn't have a problem in Spencer.

He had a solution. 

* * *

"You're capable of such beautiful dreams and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you're not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable is each other."

-Carl Sagan, _Contact_  



	2. Appetence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Appetence (n; French origin): an attraction or a natural bond. 
> 
> "Spencer Reid was not a morning person."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was working on the sequel to 'L'appel du vide' but then this sort of happened? It takes place between the events of 'L'appel du vide' and the events of the yet-to-be-finished sequel. 
> 
> It's just a short bit of fluff but I couldn't help myself.

“Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day.” -  Glen Cook

* * *

 

Spencer Reid was many things: a courageous special agent, a talented profiler, and an arguable genius just to name a few. He was not, as Aaron discovered firsthand, a morning person. No, Spencer Reid despised the early morning. The sun was too bright, the birds were too loud, and the floors were too cold to shuffle across in a desperate search for caffeine.

Unfortunately for Spencer, both Hotchner men were morning birds.

* * *

 

A warm arm had wrapped itself around Spencer's back in the middle of the night and held him against the safety of Aaron's solid chest. Spencer's right leg nestled itself in the warm space between Aaron's knees and his right arm draped across Aaron's stomach like a second blanket.

Both agents rested peacefully, subconsciously aware of the impenetrable cocoon of safety enveloping them beneath the comforter. Well, impenetrable to all but the soft knocking of tiny fists against the bedroom door.

"Daddy, you awake?" A voice whispered from the opposite side of the door.

His eyes fluttered open easily, relieved to see Spencer curled up against him, the warmth of his skin pressed against his own. After so many years of poorly denied pining, he wouldn't have been surprised to find that the previous evening had been nothing but a dream. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time. But there he was-- his eyes covered by the fringe of hair falling forward across his face, his breath coming evenly through his nose,  his chest rising and falling against Aaron's ribcage.

Aaron untangled himself from Spencer's cephalopod limbs, trying his best to keep from waking him, before shuffling across the room to find his sweatpants. His bones creaked as he stepped into them, his muscles sore in all the best ways. It'd been a long time since he had a night like the one previous.

_Too long_ , he thought, glancing at Spencer.

Aaron ran a hand through his mussed hair as he strode to the door. When he opened it, he was greeted by a bouncing bundle of Spiderman-pajamas and dirty blonde hair.

“Mornin’ daddy!” Jack said, his voice louder than Aaron anticipated. He heard shuffling of sheets behind him, followed by a disgruntled groan.

“Mornin’, little man,” Aaron replied, careful to keep the door closed just enough to shield Jack from Spencer’s still naked frame. “You’re up early.”

“I wanted to make pancakes, can we?” His eyes were wide with excitement, the kind of joy only a six year old could muster at the crack of dawn.

“Hmmm,” Aaron hummed in false consideration before breaking into a grin. “I guess that’d be okay,” he said, ruffling Jack’s hair.  

He paused before continuing. “But we’ll have to make a little more than usual.”

“How come?” Jack said, his tiny brow furrowed.

“Spencer slept over last night, and we wouldn’t want him to not have breakfast, would we?” Aaron hedged, his voice straining for nonchalance.

Jack was intelligent and well-adjusted, Aaron knew, but it would be difficult to explain exactly what was happening between himself and Spencer when truthfully, he didn’t even know. He knew what he wanted, of course, but whether that was a mutual desire or not remained to be seen.

Luckily, the promise of pancakes seemed to be a sufficient distraction.

“What kind of pancakes does he like? We always make our favorites so we should make his, too, right?” He said, his smile wide and genuine.

Aaron couldn’t help the smirk that stretched across his face.

“You know, that’s a good question. Why don’t you go get the kitchen ready and I’ll come down in a few minutes with an answer? How’s that sound?”

“‘Kay!” He replied, running excitedly towards the stairs.

“Jack, what don’t we do on the stairs?” He called, trying not to laugh as his son stopped mid-stride. Aaron watched as he continued down the stairs before closing the bedroom door.

This time, he couldn’t contain his laughter.

Spencer was laying face up, his hands clutching the hem of the blanket near his chin. He’d pulled the comforter up to partially cover his face, exposing only a mop of brown hair sticking up at odd angles and glaring eyes undisguised beneath heavy eyelids.

“Morning,” Aaron said, his voice broken by a chuckle.

Spencer’s responded by pulling the comforter up to cover his head.

“Why are you awake at such an ungodly hour?” He groaned, his voice muffled beneath the covers. Aaron tried to keep the tenderness that swelled in his stomach from overwhelming him as he sat on the edge of Spencer’s side of the bed.

“Because I have a six year old who likes chocolate chip pancakes,” Aaron laughed. “Speaking of which, do you have a pancake preference? Jack wants to make your favorite.”

“I’m a fan of those made after 9am,” he replied, turning the opposite way.

“Oh, no, you don’t. Jack’s already in the kitchen and he wants to make pancakes. If you think the Bureau is bad, you haven’t seen my son when he gets impatient.” Aaron said, pulling the covers away from Spencer’s face. He turned his eyes back to Aaron, a silent plea for five more minutes.

Aaron sighed, internally cursing Spencer’s feigned innocence.

“There are spare sweatpants in the top drawer and extra toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet. I’ll be downstairs with Jack and I expect you to join us. Griddle on in 10,” he conceded.

Spencer chuckled, his morning grumpiness beginning to fade.

Aaron stood to leave when Spencer placed a hand on his arm. “Oh, and Aaron?”

“Hmm?” He hummed in response, actively trying to control the fondness that swelled in his chest hearing Spencer use his first name so casually.

“Mark me down for chocolate chip, too.”

Aaron smiled, leaning down to press his lips against Spencer’s. It was chaste-- a brief gesture of affection. Spencer returned the gesture casually; there was no sense of urgency. There was only confidence and safety and comfort in the way he lazily mirrored the movements of Aaron’s lips.

“Daddy, come on!” Jack called from the stairway. Both men laughed into the kiss before pulling back from one another-- an action that took much more willpower than either of them would admit.

“I’ll put the coffee on,” Aaron said, his voice low near Spencer’s ear.

“Don’t tease me with caffeine, that’s unfair,” Spencer replied, a glimmer of mischief behind his eyes.

“See you in 10,” Aaron said, leaning down to kiss him once more before he left. Spencer smiled to himself as he watched Aaron pull the door closed behind him.

Spencer Reid wasn’t a morning person, but if mornings like these became commonplace, he could easily be persuaded to enjoy the early dawn.

* * *

 

  
“Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night. Our love came when we’d given up on asking love to come. I think that has to be part of its miracle.” -[Clementine Von Radics](http://clementinevonradics.tumblr.com/)


End file.
